


Promise of Peace

by Blue_Equinox_2



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cutting, Death, Depressing, Depression, Sad, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:17:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4625076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Equinox_2/pseuds/Blue_Equinox_2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been slipping and no one has cared, until now. Scott comes to make amends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> It's rather simple, if you don't like this type of writing, please don't read or comment.

I don’t know how I can do this any longer. I have no reason to live, I’m really just a pile of nothing. A hand that is never raised in class. A freak who cries in front of his friends. A kid with unexplainable scars kept hidden under long sleeves. Panic attacks in the night that wake my father up, he doesn’t get enough sleep on a good night anyways. A scale that always reads to high. Another concerned phone call from a teacher which ended with a drink in his dad’s glass. The nights spent screaming his pain into his pillow and eventually passing out due to exhaustion. The mean words whispered to him from his brain. The pain, the never ending pain. 

Stiles has always been mean to himself. It started when his mom died and only got worse as he grew up. He had Scott to himself all through middle school growing up but when high school rolled around, well...girls and werewolves. He didn’t want to burden his father, he lost his wife and was left with a broken child to care for. 

A bad class turned into a day, turned into a week and then a month. A month turned into more and then came a one year anniversary for the start of Stiles’ self destruction. One year turned into two, which turned into four and then five. And nobody noticed. Scott would come over and never comment on the stench of blood. Derek pushed him up against walls and Jackson tripped him in lacrosse. Lydia chose Jackson and Scott chose Allison. Ethan chose Danny. Stiles chose his razor blades. 

It was another crappy day of school. Stiles sat by himself at lunch and despite his best efforts dozed off in class because he couldn’t sleep at night. He itched the red scars and gashes he knew were beneath the long sleeves that he wore during June. 

It started out innocent, well as innocent as cutting yourself can be, with a plan for just a few. Just a couple to help him focus so he could say he at least tried to do his homework. 

Things quickly digressed from there. Stiles sat in a huddle on his bed choosing his music and selecting his devices for today’s self-inflicted mutilation. One gash after another appeared without his notice until he was floating high on endorphins, which was quite a feat, it took determination to get to that point. But the only thing he was determined to do was forget and feel peaceful. 

But he could do one better. It would be so easy to be stress-free forever. No more rejections by Scott or his so called friends. No more shoving or pushing. An end to his nightmares and panic attacks. The end to his crushing depression. He could have peace. He could see his mother again. That sounded like heaven. 

So he closed his eyes and winced at the feeling of droplets rolling down his arms, but he knew this was the right thing to do.  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

Even before Scott pulled into the Stilinski driveway he could hear the music pouring out of Stiles’ room and when it was loud enough for him to hear through the walls it was never a good thing. He hopped out of his mom’s car and hauled himself up the drain pipe and to Stiles’ window sill where he tried to get in but it was locked.  
He scrunched his eyebrows so that he looked funny, or that’s what Stiles used to tell him anyways. Maybe Stiles wanted to be alone, he wouldn’t blame him, he had been a shitty friend since freshman year when the werewolf crap started. 

That’s why he was here. He had pizza in the back seat and the newest Black Ops game still in the packaging. He had been meaning to come over and talk but there wasn’t a really good way to say, ”I’ve been a shit friend for the past three years and I’m sorry, let’s hang out”. 

Stiles had been having a tough time recently, that much was obvious but the locked window? That was a bad sign, Stiles had only completely locked himself in his room a handful of times and they all ended terribly. The last time this happened Scott had found Stiles with a bottle of pills on the anniversary of his mother’s death. Starting to be seriously concerned, Scott jumped down to the ground and ran around to the front door only to discover it too was locked. 

The boys at one point had traded house keys so they both had emergency access to the other’s house if there was a need. But a couple of months ago Stiles asked for his back after they got in their biggest fight. It started in school where Allison stole Scott from Stiles during lunch to go to the popular table, leaving Stiles alone at the small table they shared in the corner.

And then Scott started studying with Allison, and dating her, and cancelling their chill time so he could be with her. And it left Stiles alone, by himself with this thoughts. And thats when things got bad again. It came to a head when Stiles was with Scott at his house and Scott asked if he would mind going home and if they could reschedule for the weekend. To put it nicely, Stiles lost it and Scott didn’t understand why, so he took the key back. 

Scott tried to break into the door using his pathetic lock picking skills that, ironically, Stiles taught him. Deciding to take the most efficient route he grabbed the doorknob and pulled, hard. Seconds later a mangled piece of metal came flying off and it was tossed onto the ground as Scott shouldered himself through the door. The music hurt his sensitive ears as he took in his surroundings and noticed nothing off. 

Having a bad feeling in his gut he took the stairs three at a time and tried Stiles’ door to find it locked too. Repeating his earlier actions, the doorknob became a chunk of unrecognisable bronze as Scott ran inside Stiles’ room just to be thrown back against the hallway wall. 

Startled, Scott looked down to see a line of mountain ash across his doorway. Trying to fight his way into the room, Scott was fueled by fear and nerves. The music wasn’t what Stiles listened to, it was dark and loud and sad. 

Desperately trying to get to his friend Scott pushed as hard as he could with his eyes glowing red as he moved through the ash. The ash was grey and stuck to his feet as he ran through the line, burning his arches and the sensitive skin between his toes. 

But he couldn’t focus on his own pain because now that he was in, he had access to Stiles’ bedroom and bathroom. 

The bedroom reeked of sadness and anxiety, depression and hopelessness, scents that hurt Scott knowing they came from his friend. 

But the worst was the smell of blood. 

Scott could see the blood on his sheets and the towel laid at the foot of his bed. He followed the thin trail of blood drops on the floor into the bathroom where he in desperation shoved through the door. 

The fan was on but it did nothing to held the stench of the massive amount of blood pooling on the floor and in the bathtub where Scott couldn’t tear his eyes away from. 

Stiles’ limp body was in the tub full of water dyed red, an assortment of sharp object displayed on the bathmat beside him. Scissors, a box cutter, razor blades, kitchen knifes, and tiny blades that looked like they came from a child’s pencil sharpener. 

He screamed and his wolf howled, loud enough that he was sure every supernatural creature in Beacon Hills could hear his anguish. 

Scott dropped to his knees and leaned into the bloody water grabbing Stiles’ shoulders and started violently shaking him desperate for a miracle, Stiles was pretty good at those. He shook him and Stiles’ head lolled to the side eyes open and Scott lost it. 

He pulled Stiles’ body out of the water, sending the vile instruments out of the way and cradled his body for what felt like hours, but was realistically a couple of minutes, with careful touches and silent tears slipping down his cheeks. Feeling his wolf rising he carefully laid him on the tile floor of the bathroom and scrambled away. 

But then Scott was seeing red, his alpha instinct taking over he growled as his wolf gained control of his body and he wrecked havoc on everything in his sight. 

He slammed his fist against the sink basin and shattered the porcelain, punched the wall until there was a body sized hole. He threw the mattress across the room and flipped the old desk where they would do research. Scott took his laptop and crushed it between his hands glass shards embedding themselves in his palms going unnoticed in his grief. 

Scott screamed and let the tears run down his face as he recognized the smell of death overtaking the room. He fell to his knees and sobbed that this is what had happened. He never realized things had gotten this bad with Stiles. 

Scott screamed until his voice was hoarse and then he fell over and collapsed into himself, a sniveling and sobbing mess. The minutes ticked by and the image of his best friend, was still burned into his head. 

So he scratched his face and eyes, leaving deep gouges that he kept re-opening despite his body’s attempts to quickly heal itself. 

His wolf had gone quiet after ten minutes when he was reduced to endless tears and the sobs that hurt his chest. He crawled into the bathroom and took a razor blade into his hand, mesmerized by the sharp edge and how easily it could open his skin. But he didn’t do that, he couldn’t. 

Eventually when he could form thoughts and words he called 911. It wasn’t anything fancy, an ambulance and a police officer in the end that covered Stiles with a sterile white sheet and placed his body onto a stretcher. 

Scott vomited multiple times onto the floor of the room he had destroyed in his grief, not even caring. There wasn’t anything to care about. 

He didn’t ride in the ambulance to the hospital, he wouldn’t have been able to do that. 

John Stilinski was alerted that his son was at the hospital, not told why. 

Melissa McCall got a ride to the now lifeless house, shedding her own tears, and cradled her son for over an hour before helping him up and into the car. 

The cold pizza and game remained in the back seat forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or comments.


End file.
